I’m too sleepy to write, but let’s plunge in
to this artichoke heart lines, lime rhymes,
and vinaigrette verse stirred with a truncheon
that I took from the Law due to my crimes.

I don’t know what is happening in this life
or outside as the fall finally takes hold
of my throat as it slides its sugar knife
across my Adam’s apple, mealy and cold.

And I’m out of scarves, too, until I wash
my sweatery load, but the machine stains
the clothes from overwork; I want to cry,
but I say “Geronimo!” just like Bosch
and I dive right in, while the planet wanes,
into the pile of leaves where the brave die.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized, Urban Sonnets and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to 364

  1. Andrew Pace says:

    Glad you stuck with sonnets. What a fine discovery for me.

    • urbansonnets says:

      Wow! It’s so great to hear from you (with my eyes) after all these years! I’ll take this as a sign that my recent decision to return to sonneteering was a good one! How are things? I see you’re in Alaska! Let me know if you’re ever in the NY/NJ area! If I ever make it to Alaska, I’ll drop you a line!

      • Andrew Pace says:

        Things are good. We have 1 baby girl & 34 sled dogs, winter is finally here & I’m reading some wonderfully written sonnets. I had written last week that there were precisely two times I felt like I did a poem justice in front of a classroom- one was your sonnet & the other was one of Shakespeare’s. Man, you’ve attained utter fluency. Giving me a boost to get back to some writing myself. & yes, if you’re ever up this way, our door is open.

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